Saturday afternoon. Walking to the park. Elaine and Holly. Too many leaves today. It was the hurricane. Last week. That’s what did it. Stripped half the leaves off the trees. The rest have taken flight today. Falling, falling. On streets, cars, sidewalks. Leaves. Everywhere. Swirling, swirling. One lands on Holly’s back. A maple leaf. She ignores it. Continues walking toward the park. Her harness buckled over a Christmas sweater. Yorkie-size. Nice and warm. For a chilly day. Like today. A moped turns onto the street. Heads toward them. Elaine glances at it. Mopeds. Funny little machines. Men are the ones who seem to like them. Ride them. Mopeds. Not her thing. Yet there’s something odd about this one. The rider’s coat. It’s not a jacket. Not the kind a man would wear. This coat. Too bulky. Furry. A fur coat. Leopard print. That’s what it is. And the moped. Bright fuchsia. A woman on her moped. Imagine that? She speeds past Elaine in a whirl of autumn leaves. Just a flash of pink. And she’s gone. Holly ignores it. Continues walking. Into the park. Walking, walking. Until she reaches a bench. Their bench. Elaine pulls a package of doggie bones from her pocket. Peanut butter. Holly’s favorite. Together, they sit on the bench. Watching cars go by. Watching trees shed their leaves. And Elaine smiles. She can’t help it. That leopard-print coat. That pink moped. Some people just know how to live.
ABOUT THE ARTIST: LAURA STAMPS
Novels, Novellas, Flash Fiction, Prose Poetry
Facebook: Laura Stamps
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